


In Search Of

by jellybeanforest



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Bad Online Dating Etiquette, Catfishing, F/M, First Relationship, GotG Holiday 2018 Challenge, Intergalactic online dating, Low Self-Esteem, Naive Adults, Protective guardians, Rarepair, Rocket-Centric, Secret Admirer, guardians as family, romantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-19 23:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17611334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: It started as a joke, something to make the others squirm while boosting Mantis’s seemingly floundering self-esteem, but the longer Rocket does it, the less funny it becomes.Based on a prompt by MantisandtheMoonDragon. For the Guardians Family Holiday Challenge Day 1 – It’s a Secret and Day 12 – Perfect Gift.





	1. A Little White Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MantisandtheMoonDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MantisandtheMoonDragon/gifts).



> This takes place approximately three months after the second movie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After witnessing Peter and Gamora’s fledgling relationship, Mantis expresses a tentative interest in romance. Drax helps her set up a profile on an intergalactic dating site, much to the horror of the others. They collectively help rewrite his initial profile for Mantis, though Drax remains doubtful the ploy will work.
> 
> Then, the responses flood in.

They have been at it for three months, and it was starting to become unbearable for Rocket.

“Hey Gamora, can you get me the replacement dock? It’s rectangular with a round hole on one end. I think I left it in the brick-a-brack drawer of the nightstand in our room,” Quill asks, as he delicately prods the innards of his Zune, having removed the damaged piece. The man had yet to allow Rocket to mess with it, insisting that he could learn to repair the device on his own, much as he had done with his Walkman previously.

“Alright,” Gamora replies. She stands, sliding her palm along his elbow across his shoulder and off. Quill’s eyes follow her touch then settle on her ass as she exits the room.

_Absolutely disgusting._

“Ugh. Get a room, you two,” Rocket grouses, face screwed up in disgust. “Finish your juice, Groot,” he absentmindedly orders the baby tree before he can slip away to cause any manner of mayhem unsupervised.

“What? We weren’t even doing anything just now,” Quill says, as if he hadn’t just undressed Gamora with his eyes after that completely unnecessary lingering touch between the two.

Drax chimes in, “I, for one, find it quite nice that Quill and Gamora have finally stopped pining from afar. Their mutual unrequited attraction was growing rather tiresome.”

Quill whips around to address him, “What are you talking about ‘finally’ and ‘mutual’? You thought Gamora didn’t even like me.”

“It has become rather apparent in the past two weeks that she clearly does.”

“We’ve been together three months.”

Drax blinks slowly. “…You have?”

“Are you blind?” Rocket sneers, wiping Groot’s morning porridge from the child’s face in a well-practiced routine. “It’s been pretty blatant since Day 1 on the Benatar. They might as well have been bumping uglies right in front of us just now!”

Groot looks up at him, doe-eyed and innocent. “I am Groot.” _Wait… Mama Gamora likes Papa Quill?_

Rocket cradles his head in his paws. He is surrounded by idiots.

“…Bumping uglies?” Mantis repeats, unfamiliar with the peculiar turn of phrase. Neither Gamora nor Peter had ever purposely bumped her against anything, much less another individual as stomach-churningly hideous as she.

As usual, Drax enlightens her. “Rocket means sexual congress. In this specific case, he is referring to when a man puts his penis–”

“Drax!” Quill exclaims, eyebrows jumping towards his hair line.

“–in a woman’s vagina.”

Quill gives him a pained expression. “Inappropriate.”

In Rocket’s opinion, the man coddled Mantis. Sure, she was a touch naïve, almost child-like, but she was far from being an actual child. Ego had stunted her social development, whether by design or simple negligence, but it seemed unfair and disadvantageous to Mantis for the Guardians to continue this trend and shield her from normal adult experiences.

Drax seemed to be of the same opinion.

“There is nothing inappropriate about sex. It’s a natural urge between a person and their beloved. With your rather extensive and varied sexual history, I thought you would be more open to frank discussions about the carnal act. I did not take you for the prudish sort.”

“Oh, Ego taught me about sex,” Mantis interjects, greatly compounding Quill’s discomfort. He simultaneously looks like he wants to die and murder Ego all over again before she continues, “I am familiar with the concept and general mechanics, but I have never participated in the sex before.”

Drax nods in understanding. “That is unsurprising considering how hideous you are.”

“Drax! She’s not hideous,” Quill insists.

Looking flummoxed, Drax subtly gestures at Mantis as if to say her physical unsightliness is self-evident.

Rocket rolls his eyes at the man. There is clearly something wrong with his vision if he thought Mantis was any less attractive than Drax himself. Granted, all humies sort of looked the same to Rocket anyways: Much too tall and kind of derpy, what with their flat snouts and general lack of body fur. They did come in a wide array of colors and body shapes, which helped differentiate unfamiliar ones from each other, but overall, Rocket wasn’t too much of a fan of people in general.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he bites back.

“Thank you, Rocket. I am an expert in such things.”

Sometimes, Rocket really hated how little Drax understood sarcasm.

 

* * *

 

Later, Groot is hitching a ride on Rocket's shoulder when the two come across Drax and Mantis in the comm room, where the former sits in front of the screen, quickly typing away while the latter observes. A cursory glance reveals it to be opened to a dating application.

“Looks like the big lug is finally ready to find love again,” Rocket observes, calling over Quill and Gamora to gawk at the man’s profile and appreciate his running commentary that would otherwise be lost on his literal-minded target. However, he chokes on his first joke when it becomes clear from the chosen handle that the profile in question is actually for Mantis.

“Drax is helping me set up my account on the Love Connection. Their slogan is: Lonely Hearts, Empty Gonads,” Mantis says brightly.

“Mantis has expressed an interest in sex. Since none of us are willing to lie with her, I thought it wise to help her set up a personals ad on one of these intergalactic posting boards,” he further clarifies. “This one seems to be rather popular in this sector for people seeking romantic entanglements.”

“Wow, what a great friend you are,” Rocket says in an exaggerated tone. Groot hops down from his perch, and Rocket stretches the sore joint. The kid is getting larger by the day, and soon he won’t be able to use Rocket as a lookout point.

“It is true I am an exemplar friend.”

“I was being sarcastic, you idiot,” Rocket says, fed up with Drax’s literal sensibilities. “Those sites are ripe with con-artists looking for suckers to harvest their assets and organs.”

Eyes scanning the screen, he locks onto an obvious example. “'Hot young twins in search of big daddy to spoil them rotten.' That sound legit to you?”

Drax squints his eyes at the listing. “Those are only rumors, and these sisters are clearly on the wrong message-board. Perhaps they are looking for their birth father to shower them with the affection they lacked growing up in a state-sponsored orphanage that did not have air conditioning.”

“Oh, how very sad,” Mantis says, hands coming up to palm her cheeks in empathy. “Those poor girls!”

“Must own a Starstream 6 or better, a flat in uptown Ciprol City, and make a minimum of 500,000 credits per anum. Minimum allowance is 10,000 credits per month plus black card for personal use,” Rocket reads aloud, his tone flat.

“That’s a lot of allowance. Perhaps they are asking for back-pay for all those years of neglect?” she says, but her voice betrays a twinge of uncertainty.

“I am Groot?” _We can get paid for that?_ He tugs on the edge of Quill’s shirt, trying to capture his attention, but is ultimately ignored.

Instead, the man leans over Drax’s shoulder to read the profile the latter had drafted on Mantis’s behalf, “’Plain female in search of company of unspecified gender for sexual relations and companionship.’ Stars, Drax… this is awful – Ouch!” He plucks Groot from the table, frowning at the baby tree’s angry expression, after the tyke had managed to stick his side with a sharpened feeler.

Gamora reaches out to angle the screen closer to read the small print beneath the underwhelming title: “Bug-eyed former pet seeks person willing to guide her in the art of love. Looking for friendship first before meeting in person and then we will see where it goes from there. I am of average attractiveness and have been told that most people will not vomit at the thought of being with me physically… Drax!” She turns to face him, her expression incredulous.

Drax sighs, his shoulders slumped. “I know it’s in poor taste to deceive unsuspecting strangers, but if I am too honest about her appearance, they may not want to meet her at all. Mantis is beautiful… on the inside, where it counts. She just needs to win them over with her personality before they have a chance to see her in the flesh.”

Mantis sounds guilty as well. “I told Drax I didn’t want to trick anybody. It seems unfair for them to develop feelings for me without knowing how hideous I am, but Drax says that everyone exaggerates a little on these things, so it’s expected.” She nervously picks at the seam of her sleeves.

Sucking in a calming breath, Gamora offers not unkindly, “How about I help you with your profile? We can use a picture so people know who they are talking to, and there are no surprises. Is that okay?”

After three long seconds, Mantis nods, almost imperceptibly. A second opinion couldn’t hurt.

Drax is much more vocal. “Okay, we will try it your way, friends, and when that method fails to garner any interest, we will take a group photograph and make prospective suitors guess which of our number is Mantis. I used to play dress-up with Kamaria all the time. It has been several years since, but I am certain I can still pass as a rather handsome woman. Quill, I will teach you to be quite fetching as well. Perhaps red liner will make your eyes pop, and we can get some padding to improve your musculature.”

“Dude, my musculature is just fine… right, Gamora?” Peter prompts, looking towards his lover, who ignores him as she attempts to improve Mantis’s own tattered self-esteem.

“Mantis, don’t listen to Drax. You are _not_ ugly, but even if you were, everyone has different standards for what they find attractive. You deserve someone who likes you, both inside and out.”

“That is very kind of you to say. You are such a lovely person to help one so displeasing to the eye such as myself,” Mantis replies, her tone shockingly upbeat despite the subject matter being her own unsightliness.

“Oi,” Rocket utters, closing his eyes and palming his forehead in second-hand embarrassment. Though consistently positive, the woman could really do with some confidence, he thinks. Really, this whole experiment is doomed to failure, and it has very little to do with Mantis’s appearance.

 

* * *

 

It’s times like these that Rocket hates always being right.

To Mantis and Drax’s surprise and no one else’s, Mantis receives a deluge of responses in the first six hours.

“I just don’t understand how you have garnered so much interest in so little time, especially considering…” at a loss for words, Drax circles one hand in front of Mantis’s face, indicating her generally repulsive aesthetic.

“Is it really that bad?” Mantis asks, self-consciously rubbing the side of her face from temple to cheek, her eyes crinkling with unease.

“ _You_ are haunting.”

“Oh…”

Unfortunately, most of the messages are equally horrifying.

Swiping through the half-literate and pornographic responses, Drax continues, “But looks aren’t everything. You are a kind person, a good person, and clearly these people are not. You shouldn’t have to settle for… is that a cloaca?” he asks, his throat emitting a sound of disgust, “Unsolicited Genitalia #11. Have these people never heard of consent? Have they no shame?”

Rocket, on the other hand, is having the best day in recent memory. “Look at this one; it’s all hooked. How does this guy even piss without it hitting him in the face?”

“Rocket, that is rather rude. Perhaps his species vacates their bladders through other means,” Drax admonishes him.

“Hey, I’m not the one sending pictures of my junk to strangers that haven’t asked to see them. If they’re putting it out there, they’re asking for comment on their weird genitals. Anyways, look at this loser with his feather-duster penis. That’s got’a tickle, if you know what I’m sayin’?”

“What you call a ‘feather’ are actually hundreds of spiny protuberances made of chitin spiraling off a series of central copulatory spikes,” Drax explains. “They would not ‘tickle.’”

Rocket flinches then mumbles, “Stars, you just have to squash the fun out of everything, don’t you?”

“I do not think… I’m into that,” Mantis replies tentatively, trying not to stare too hard at the prickly penis, lest her morbid curiosity be misconstrued as sexual interest.

Drax swipes the messages shut, closing out the disturbing photo. “Even if you were, I would advise against contacting this person. Not only is transmitting unsolicited photos of your genitalia to prospective dates clearly unacceptable behavior, but he must be extremely desperate to go after a woman as hideous as you without at least uncovering the stellar personality beneath your unfortunate façade.”

Mantis wilts, excusing herself from the room on a thin premise.

“Buddy, maybe you should let up on the whole ugly bit, yeah? I know she ain’t your type, but you’re giving her a complex,” Rocket says, in a rare display of sympathy.

“I am only helping Mantis by explaining why a person who would immediately send a picture of their penis to one such as her is not acting in good faith. Mantis should focus on developing her rapport with _decent_ strangers before initiating a sexual relationship.”

“You know she ain’t actually ugly, right?” Rocket presses.

“Have you seen her face?” Drax says, doubling down on his original opinion. “Rocket… I know you’re not used to dealing with people in general, but lying, while seemingly the kinder route, will only hurt her in the long run.”

“I think you’re doing plenty damage for the both of us,” he mutters in response.

 

* * *

 

It started with a short message.

_Nice photo. I think you’re very cute. I am also a fan of sugar-pops and comedies myself. –SuddenlyStudly_

The aptly-named man is as described: a bald Xandarian with a nondescript but attractive face and a wide square jaw, his largest assets are his muscular pecs, accentuated by his angled posture and obvious flexing in what seemed like a photograph taken while standing shirtless in front of a washroom mirror.

“Now, this. This is a real man,” Drax declares, surprised that someone so very handsome and virile is interested in Mantis. “Lucky for you, Mantis, his only flaw is blindness.”

“He said he liked her photograph and specifically complimented her appearance!” Rocket exclaims, exasperated, while pointing at the message. “He just said she’s cute.”

“I don’t know, the guy looks like a meathead,” Quill comments, skeptical of the man’s obnoxious handle and obvious posing, while in a bathroom no less. Quill leans over to try to scroll through his gallery, but the man only has the one available photo. His eyes narrow in suspicion.

“You are clearly jealous of SuddenlyStudly’s superior physique,” Drax replies dismissively.

Quill is about to protest when Gamora cuts in, “It doesn’t matter what you two think of this man. What do you think, Mantis? Would you like to respond?”

Mantis stares at the screen while she chews her lip, seemingly uncertain. “…Yes, I would.”

“Then, we’ll leave you to it,” Gamora says, as she forcibly ushers the others out of the comm room, granting Mantis her privacy.

 

* * *

 

After tucking Groot in for the night, Rocket hunkers down in his nest of clunky gadgets and worn-soft blankets, tucked in a dark corner of his workroom. He clicks open his holopad, navigating to the Love Connection app. Deleting the new initial messages from a couple women and more than a handful of men, he selects the reply to the lone outgoing message he had written.

_Thank you. You are very cute as well. Do you have a favorite comedy holo-vid? –BugEyes_

He rolls his eyes at Drax’s chosen handle for Mantis then sets out crafting his perfect message. He can’t very well disappear on her now. He’ll just play along, and eventually, Mantis will tire of SuddenlyStudly.

 

* * *

 

Mantis does not tire of SuddenlyStudly.

Rocket had quickly given up trying to invent a believable back-story for his alter ego from whole cloth, instead borrowing events and people from his own life to flesh out the SuddenlyStudly persona. It was much easier to keep track of his lies if they were based on truth, after all. So, Groot became his adopted son, Yox, and together they had recently moved to Xandar’s capitol to live with his spastic sister Tharissha, her competent new wife Brundhi, and their mother, an uptight spinster with a terminal case of stick-up-her-ass.

He had hoped pretending to be a single father who worked a dead-end job and still lived with his overbearing mother might quell her interest.

He was wrong.

_That all sounds very exciting. I have never worked at a water processing plant before. Do you like it? What is the strangest thing you have found on the job? And how is Yox today? Was he able to make friends at his new school? I hope he is adjusting well. Sometimes, it’s hard leaving everything behind to start a new life in a new place, but it can be an amazing opportunity as well. I know it was the same for me when I first left home. At first, it’s scary and you don’t know what you’re doing, but things are so much better now. My new friends are very nice, and I have had so many new experiences. Just today, Drax went on a reconnaissance job, and he brought me back calcium sticks. He told me they were good for bone growth as ‘one so sickly-thin as myself is liable to stoop and snap in old age without preventative measures,’ but they tasted kind of chalky and bland. I’ve never had calcium sticks before, and I was happy he thought of me when he bought(?) them. I’ve never had a brother before either, but I think our relationship would be a lot like me and Drax. Sometimes, he says things that aren’t very nice, but he means well. I heard that is common between siblings anyway. Do you get along with Tharissha? –BugEyes_

Still, it was nice having someone nice to talk to at the end of the day, someone who didn’t see him as the failed experiment he was, someone who thought she was talking to a person.

_Yeah, it ain’t too exciting working at the plant. It’s a lot of raw sewage and garbage and the occasional baby f’saki. You wouldn’t believe what these assholes flush. But it pays the bills and gives me some time away from Yox. I love the little bugger, but he can be a handful. He’s blending in pretty well in class. He only tried to beat up one other kid and eat three crayons and two beetles today, so that’s progress. Tomorrow they’re teaching him–_

What did kids learn in school these days?

_–how to disassemble and reassemble a plasma canon. He’s already learned how to do that from his old man though, so he’ll be ahead of the class. It’s true what they say: They grow up so fast._

“Stars, Rocket. Is it really that difficult to put your stuff away into its designated box? We’re working with limited space here,” Quill complains, shuffling through his workspace, navigating around piles of salvaged gadgets, bits, and broken things.

“Just because I’m small don’t mean I deserve less space than one of you humies,” Rocket snaps back.

_As for me and Tharissha… We’re always fighting over something or other, most of the time I forget the reason why; I guess she rubs me the wrong way._

“Here you go,” Rocket says later, tossing Gamora a repaired training ball. “You can adjust the weight by flipping open the side hatch and cranking up the internalized gravitational field.”

“Thanks, Rocket.”

He grunts in return.                                                                                                                                                       

_But she married okay. Brundhi is alright. She’s definitely the level-headed one in that couple._

_My mother can be brutal–_

“Have you received any further correspondence from additional suitors?” Drax asks Mantis.

Rocket pretends to work as he listens to her reply. “Yes, but I’ve mainly been communicating with one person…”

“The Xandarian, correct? I don’t understand what he initially saw in you, but I am happy that you have cultivated a genuine connection with someone.”

_–but it comes from a good place._

_Anyways, you shouldn’t let Drax get you down. He wouldn’t know a beautiful woman if she was standing in front of him. Case in point: You. –SuddenlyStudly_

Rocket is loathe to admit it, but he enjoys talking to BugEyes. Whereas Mantis is meek and quiet, rarely speaking out of turn in fear of causing offense or undo negative emotions, BugEyes is chatty and much less inhibited. She lacks Mantis’s in-person self-consciousness, and her messages, while still naïve with a distinctly-positive lilt, are well-composed and thoughtful.

And then there were the secrets, things BugEyes reveals in an off-handed manner of which Mantis never spoke.

_They really do grow up so very fast. Groot is almost up to my knees these days, and he’s got quite the strong personality. I think he gets that from Rocket. He’s really good with him. The man who raised me always stressed the importance of obedience and silence, so it’s nice to see Groot being raised in a caring environment by people who love him and encourage him to be as big and loud as he can be. Sometimes, I still think of that man as my father, and I like to think that maybe he might have loved me once, maybe back when I was more of a novelty. Seeing how everyone is with Groot... It makes me happy but also a little sad. –BugEyes_

If Rocket was a better person, he’d close the message and try to forget he ever saw it. He taps the reply button instead.

_Family ain’t the people who made you, but them who really give a shit about you. The people you live with now, I’m sure they care about you. –SuddenlyStudly_

He doesn’t have to wait long for her reply.

_You’re sweet, but if they knew what I had done during those days, the things I helped that man do, they wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I’m scared you wouldn’t either. I’m not a good person. –BugEyes_

Rocket never knew the specifics of what Ego had forced Mantis to do during her tenure with him, but he was smart enough to make the educated guess that it resulted in the deaths of countless children. It didn’t paint Mantis in the best light, but then again, none of the Guardians are squeaky clean, including Rocket himself. He scratches the furry expanse from elbow to shoulder, feeling for the incision scars running the entire length and crisscrossed at right angles with other, deeper cuts long since healed over.

_Whatever it was, you were just a kid trying to survive. We’ve all done things we ain’t proud of, things we wish we could do different. It don’t make you a bad person. –SuddenlyStudly_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MantisandtheMoonDragon’s Original Prompt: Rocket gives Mantis secret gifts because he’s annoyed over how she keeps telling people she’s ugly - Drax’s influence. He does it mostly because it seems to make the rest of the team uncomfortable but he starts to realize that he actually does think Mantis isn’t ugly. At all.


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis and Rocket grow closer, both on and off-line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got to 6,200+ words and decided to split the last chapter in two. Then, I got to approximately 6,000 words again and split it in half again. This was originally a one-shot. I’m not sorry.

Rocket’s earliest memory is of steel bars and white coats and so much pain. He squeals and shrieks, trying to lash out, to claw and bite the ones hurting him, but he’s held still, trapped and strapped down in a place that smells so sterile, it’s disorienting. He can’t yet speak but he conveys his distress in body language and high trills that ultimately go ignored. And when they inject something cool like ice in his veins, he goes limp and knows no more.

It had been years since, but the memories still kept Rocket awake some nights. The confusion, the smell of antiseptic, the ache deep in his broken and grafted bones that flares up when the heating goes out… just when he thinks he’s shaken it, they all come rushing back. Those memories, that feeling of helplessness and fear, are always right there just below the surface. Unable to sleep, he rolls out of his nest and tinkers with a new invention or three. Groot wants his gaming device upgraded. The coffee press got stuck on extra dark again, making Drax too jittery. Gamora might need a new tracking device to microchip Quill (though she hadn’t appreciated the suggestion at the time). There is always something to do to keep his hands busy and his mind sharp.

Lately, he has been filling those sleepless nights with conversations with fellow insomniac, BugEyes. She often can’t sleep either.

_I helped Yox with his science project. The kids were supposed to build a robot and take it to school for an old-fashioned deathmatch. Last survivor got top marks. Most of the kids brought in some motorized butler-bot with a knife taped to one end or some shit. You know,_ really _phoning it in, but not me and Yox. We blew them all away with this low-set buzzsaw contraption with puncture-proof wheels. You should of seen those other kids crying when little Buzz took out their crappy battle bots, but that’s school you know. Survival of the fittest. It was a good father-son bonding exercise. –SuddenlyStudly_

At first Rocket had been concerned the things he wrote may not be a 100% accurate portrayal of reality, particularly when it came to common experiences like compulsory education and having parents, but then he quickly realized Mantis couldn’t tell the difference anyways and was unlikely to fact-check SuddenlyStudly. Subsequent conversations became a lot easier when he could play fast and loose with the details.

_I’m sure Yox liked winning and showing his robot off to his friends, but I think he enjoyed building it with you even more. You spend so much time with him. I can just imagine the two of you, working late into the night, trying to figure out how to craft a robot to optimize both defensive and offensive capabilities. He’s surrounded with so much love from you and your family; it’s very heartwarming. –BugEyes_

Despite his anonymity and fudging of certain particulars, Rocket kept the broad strokes, his base experiences and feelings, closer to the truth.

_Yeah, well, I didn’t have the greatest childhood growing up. My mother and I didn’t always have the relationship we do now. When I was small, my parents split. She took Tharissha, and my old man took me. He was gone a lot, but when he was around… things weren’t great. I was scared of becoming a dad at first, mostly because I didn’t know how to be one or what I was doing most of the time. I lived my life looking out just for me up until I had Yox. It was always about what I wanted and trying not to get attached to anyone because everyone will disappoint you somehow. But then he was here and needed me to be better. I still screw up from time to time, but I want it to be different for him. –SuddenlyStudly_

The more they talk, the more Rocket realizes how very similar he and Mantis are. The abuse, the isolation, the feelings of worthlessness and shame… It’s comforting to be able to talk to someone about it, more so since she is unaware of his identity. He occasionally wonders what she would think if she found out she had been talking to a monster, a creature that should have never been, all this time. He suppresses that niggling inquiry, burying it deep with other unasked questions and unaddressed traumas. He doesn’t want to lose this, to lose her.

Slowly, he realizes she feels the same.

_The man who raised me was also not a good man. He brought me up in seclusion primarily to serve him and his cause. He killed a lot of people, a lot of children, and often used me to lull his victims into a false sense of security. I made many mistakes and didn’t stop him because I was weak and stupid. I let them die, one by one. I don’t even remember how many there were. But then the Guardians arrived, and they accepted me as one of their own, despite what I had done. They still don’t know the whole story, but they haven’t asked either. I don’t know what they think of me most of the time. I’m still learning how to socialize, and I think I’m getting better at it, but sometimes I still have to rely on my empathic abilities to read people. –BugEyes_

 When Rocket doesn’t reply right away, she quickly sends him another message.

_I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore. You’re just so nice and authentic, but you have the right to know who you’re talking to. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. –BugEyes_

She has a right to know as well, but Rocket never claimed to be a saint. Still, before Mantis can torture herself further with undeserved guilt and doubt, Rocket types out:

_I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. You were a kid, and he was all you knew, but you escaped. You’re safe. You got out and are living a better life. What’s important ain’t what you were but who you are now. You’re a good person. I haven’t changed my mind about that. –SuddenlyStudly_

Her relief at his acceptance is palpable in her next message:

_I was so sure you wouldn’t respond and didn’t want you to feel bad for suddenly disappearing on me. I wouldn’t have blamed you. I’m very glad you didn’t, though. My real name is Mantis, by the way. –BugEyes_

_The name’s Strauss. –SuddenlyStudly_

 

* * *

 

“Okay Groot, I need you to pay attention. This part is real important,” Rocket tells the growing tree. He hovers over the partially-dissembled remains of Groot’s busted gaming device, poking through its electronic interior. “Green wire goes into this port here and yellow goes here. Do not get them mixed up, otherwise you’ll short it, and then the repairs will be more extensive and more importantly for you, take longer.”

Groot whines, “I am Groot.” _Can’t you just hurry up and fix it for me? Why do you have to show me how to do it?_

“Hey, I ain’t the one who smashed up your game ‘cause someone couldn’t get past the final boss,” Rocket admonishes him, pausing their lesson much to Groot’s frustration. “If you can’t control that temper of your’s, you’re going to have to learn how to fix it yourself ‘cause I ain’t doing it every fifteen minutes.”

He wheedles, “I am Groot.” _C’mon, please Papa Rocket? I_ need _my games._

“Need? Funny. You keep using that word, but I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Still moving much slower than he is accustomed to, Rocket continues the lesson, showing him how to replace the cracked screen then taking it out all over again for Groot to try it himself. Groot _will_ understand the time and effort it takes to repair and rebuild this device if it’s the only thing Rocket does today. The boy needs to learn responsibility and proper respect for his possessions; so perhaps next time, he’ll think twice about indulging his growing destructive streak.

Groot mopes but does as he’s advised. Rocket considers the entire exercise a not-so-minor parenting victory.

Unnoticed by the two, Mantis slips into the seat on the bench next to Groot. “Could you teach me?”

“You really want to learn? I can barely get the kid to sit still for a twenty minute lesson, and he has a vested interest to do so,” Rocket says, staring pointedly at his reluctant protégé.

“I would like to,” she says softly. “Everyone else has a special skill, except me, and I would like to be of use in some capacity.”

Rocket wonders if her sudden interest in his work has to do with a certain amateur hobbyist. His heart clenches.

_Fuck._

“I am Groot.” _You should teach her, Papa Rocket. You’ve always wanted an eager pupil. Now’s your chance._

Rocket turns to Groot, focusing his attention on more familiar feelings: suspicion and annoyance. He thins his eyes at the child. “You just want another person around who can fix your stuff.”

“I am Groot.” _That’s a good point. If Mantis learns, I won’t have to bother you for everything. Think about it: That’s half the work right there._

“I promise I’ll try my hardest to not be a burden,” Mantis adds.

Rocket growls then acquiesces. “Oh, all right. Fine.”

Groot scoots out to extricate himself from the lesson.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rocket asks him, yanking him back into his seat.

“I am Groot.” _Mantis needs to be closer to see._

Flustered, Rocket’s grip loosens, and Groot quickly makes his exit with his repaired gaming system, silently thanking his lucky stars that Mantis had taken his place beside the crotchety old man. He is her problem now.

“Where do we start?” She asks brightly, her hands much too close to his own.

He withdraws, jumping down to rifle through a pile of safety gear before producing heavy gloves to toss in front of her. “First you put these on,” he grouses, careful not to so much as glance against her skin.

Mantis does as instructed, much to his relief. “Safety first!” she exclaims.

_Right… Safety._

He’s playing with fire being so close to an empath, but Rocket has never been one to shy away from a challenge, no matter the cost. Still, he feels the stakes have never been so high. Rocket settles in next to her, his palms sweaty and heart thumping fast like a sputtering ship engine so loud in his ears it’s a wonder she doesn’t hear it as well.

He picks up a precision screwdriver, and she mirrors his actions.

He can do this.

 

* * *

 

It turns out his trepidation is ill-founded. Once he got past the exhilaration and terror of having her so close, he focuses on the work. The routine and well-worn tools in his hands are calming, providing him a welcome distraction from the woman beside him. Plus, it helped that Mantis, though not particularly perceptive to his internal plight, is attentive and actually not a half-bad student.

“…And then we close it up, and we’re done,” he finishes, screwing the final panel in place while she copies his actions on her own device. “There. Now you got yourself a basic personal transmitter. Just adjust the dial on the side to the channel you’re wanting, and you’re all set.”

She scans through different frequencies, each producing static when not completely silent. “How do I know which one works?”

“It’s short range only, and it only works if sender and receiver are on the same frequency, like so…” he takes her transmitter, changing it to match his own before leaving it on the table for her to retrieve. He then takes his across the room where he clicks on the transmitter and whispers, “You smell Quill’s new aftershave? Rank, huh?”

Mantis laughs, then clicks to respond, “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s true though. It don’t do him no favors.”

And so it is that Mantis spends her days learning repair from Rocket and her nights sharing photos of her work and detailing her lessons to Strauss, who in turn compliments her on her progress.

Rocket even thinks he might be happy, until Drax ruins everything.

“We are passing through Xandar a few days hence. Perhaps you could meet this fine specimen of a man in person,” Drax suggests to Mantis, observing their flight path and projected estimated time of arrival on the holo-screen.

Lounging at the communal table with Mantis, Rocket freezes at the suggestion. Why couldn’t he have made SuddenlyStudly nomadic, like the Guardians, or working on an all-male mining colony in a little-traveled sector of space? Drax sits on the bench opposite them.

“That’s a wonderful suggestion! I’ll be sure to ask him about it,” Mantis replies, bubbling over with barely contained excitement.

Rocket needs a drink. He twists open a bottle, and takes a long pull.

“Yes… and if you like him, might I recommend using these,” Drax says, sliding a small box across the table.

“What are these?”

“Condoms."

Rocket spits out his mouthful. His shoulders wrack with spasms as he coughs into a clenched fist and shies away from Mantis’s comforting touch. She withdraws her hand, not wanting to upset him.

Unperturbed, Drax continues, "They go on the man’s penis during coitus to prevent pregnancy and sexually transmitted disease. If we have a loose pipe around here, I can show you how to use them. Xandarians have the standard set-up, so these should do,” he explains. “Responsible men generally carry their own, but you never know. He is a single father.”

“Stars, man!” Rocket blurts out. He doesn’t know how he feels about either the unfair slight to his alter ego or the fact that Drax is giving Mantis the sex talk in his presence in advance of her first in-person meeting with said alter ego.

“You misunderstand me. I am not judging anyone. I am merely pointing out that he has a child and so has likely engaged in unprotected sex at some point in the past. I am not dictating what Mantis should do with this man, but she should be aware of safe sex practices in order to protect herself.”

“Okay fine, but do you have to do that right now? They haven’t met yet. She don’t even know him.”

“I do know him,” Mantis protests. She rises from her seat to look through their shared pile of raw materials, the one Rocket had specifically indicated she could use for their lessons before producing a pipe to hand to Drax. “Now show me.”

Rocket feels fortunate that he’s covered in dark fur, so no one can see him blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don’t yet know the particulars of Rocket’s backstory in the MCU, but he is very clearly the subject of an experiment. My theory is that he was never meant to be a final product, but rather was an animal trial, a precursor to test a set of procedures meant for humanoid enhancement before they are approved for human use. As such, the original scientists planned to dispose of him at the conclusion of their experiments, but the enhancements were too successful, and Rocket gained enough intelligence to break himself out before they could euthanize him. Anyways, that’s the backstory he hints at in his messages and what underlies his feelings of inferiority and determination to repurpose trash into useful gadgets (besides him just being a straight-up trash panda).


	3. First Not-a-Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians pass through Xandar. Mantis’s online paramour becomes mysteriously busy, but Rocket is available to cheer her up with a surprise trip to his favorite local haunt.

Unfortunately, SuddenlyStudly is busy the entire three days the Guardians plan to be on Xandar. There was a large overflow at the water processing plant that hit electrical and fried the pumps and filtration system. Luckily, no one is hurt, but it’s all hands on deck for the coming two weeks at least. He even had to ask Tharissha to look after Yox for the time being while they dealt with the mess and he fixed their machinery. Overall, the whole affair is an unfortunate, unforeseeable event. It’s a damn shame that it just happened to coincide with the Guardians’ planned visit. Don’t wait for him, he urges. Even if the Guardians extend their stay another few days, the situation is unlikely to clear up.

Perhaps next time, he promises.

Mantis is disappointed.

“Quill, you look after Groot when we get to Xandar,” Rocket tells him not too long afterwards.

Quill rebuffs his request. “Why do I have to take him?”

“Because I always look after him, and this is the one time I’m asking you to do it.”

“Asking?” he repeats, silently challenging Rocket on his word choice.

_Is this really the hill Quill wants to die on? Semantics?_

Rocket tries to reason with him. “Look, Mantis is real bummed out that her man ain’t coming–”

“Shocker.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Quill. Anyways, I thought I could take her out to see the sights… take her mind off the whole unavailable-boyfriend thing. You know… cheer her up,” Rocket says, hoping that Quill doesn’t see how badly he wants this as well. If he knows, he might not help out of spite; that contrary fucker. When Quill doesn’t respond immediately, Rocket tries again, “C’mon, it ain’t even for me. Do it for Mantis.”

It’s a dirty move. He knows Quill has a soft spot for the little bug and is weirdly protective of her, but if it gets results…

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Quill caves, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’ll take Groot with us to visit Dey. What the hell, Dey has a daughter. They can play dress-up or war games or whatever.”

_Sucker._

No way Groot will be satisfied with that girly shit. He and Dey’s spawn will be lifting sweets and destroying everything in their path by the time their little play date is over. Hell, there is a non-zero chance that the Guardians will be banned from the Dey family household before the week is out, but that is Quill’s issue to contend with. Rocket has other concerns.

With Groot taken care of, he approaches Mantis. “Hey, so… I heard that your guy is tied up at work and can’t come out to meet you.”

Her voice is small, deflated. “Yes, it seems there was an emergency, and he will not be able to make it this time.”

“Yeah… sorry about that.” And he is, too, after seeing her so down like this.

“It’s all right. It’s no one’s fault, really.”

His face betraying something akin to guilt, Rocket looks away, nervously rubbing one elbow with his other paw. This is a terrible idea, one of his worst, actually. “Anyways… Quill’s on Groot duty this time ‘round, and I thought I could show you around Xandar, if you want. Xandarians can be a little up-their-own-ass, but there’s fun to be had if you know where to go,” he offers, already steeling himself for inevitable rejection.

There’s an almost-imperceptible shrug of her shoulders then a slightly-less despondent: “Sure.”

It’s a pity non-date between friends. He is heartbreakingly aware he’s a poor consolation prize, and she would much rather be traipsing around Xandar on SuddenlyStudly’s arm, but that doesn’t stop his gut from bubbling over with cautious excitement at her answer.

 

* * *

 

Rocket knows he has made a slight miscalculation when they arrive for their reservation at the Fatted Calf, a premiere hot-spot Rocket had found when he had looked up must-see places to impress dates. Clearly, his cursory research had not been thorough. The high-vaulted foyer is inlaid with wood highlighted by warm light from a tasteful chandelier. The furniture is heavy but comfortable, padded in dark leather. The seated clientele are well-dressed and speak in muted tones that do not carry throughout the restaurant, the acoustics being conducive to privacy.

“This place seems… nice,” Mantis comments, her voice a little unsure.

“So, it looks like we may’ve underdressed,” Rocket grumbles, hyperaware that in retrospect the Fatted Calf might be over-doing it for a first not-a-date, but such matters have never bothered him before. He had never fit in anywhere, choosing to carve his own path in a universe not built for him. But then again, he’d never involved another unwitting person in such a scenario, particularly not someone he may have wanted to impress, and found the overall experience disagreeable.

“C’mon, let’s see if this joint has any decent grub,” he says, stepping forward to follow the maitre d’ to their table. Mantis hesitates for a moment and then steps in beside him, easily matching his swift strides with her longer legs.

Ordering had been a challenge. Mantis had solicited recommendations from their waiter, who then proceeded to spout off what Rocket swears is fancy gibberish. No less perplexed than before the waiter had spoken, Mantis orders the last thing he said. Equally unable to understand their offerings but unwilling to ask for help lest he look unsophisticated, Rocket points at a random item on the menu and prays whatever-it-is is not poisonous to his species.

At his selection, the waiter raises an eyebrow. “Are you certain that is what you would like, sir?”

“I ordered it, didn’t I?” Rocket snaps back, embarrassed that he may have made a faux pas in front of Mantis. He doesn’t care what it is; he’ll suffer through it and pretend it’s what he meant to order.

“As you wish, sir,” the waiter writes down his order, retrieves their menus as well as two of the five unnecessary place settings in front of each of them, and leaves.

“What did you order?” Mantis asks, once they are alone.

“Hey, so… Drax told me he’s teaching you self defense in case you run across some creeps. Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

When their food arrives, Rocket understands the waiter’s hesitation.

Mantis’s dish is a petite two-bite steak of some sort covered in a purple sauce over a small mound of root vegetables. It’s the sort of dish that wouldn’t even half-satisfy a being of Rocket’s stature, which he really should have anticipated considering the atmosphere.

Rocket’s order, on the other hand, arrives on a silver platter atop a cart accompanied by one of their sous-chef’s who promptly hand-carves a slice of the roasted creature to place directly on Rocket’s plate, ensuring he gets a portion of the crisped skin. Rocket doesn’t even see the man’s disturbed expression at the identity of their diner, as he is too preoccupied staring at the Rocket-sized, long-snouted creature missing several slices from its hind quarters. Curled under its main body are dexterous paws, too much like his own.

Bile rises in his throat as he turns his gaze to Mantis, who is likewise staring at the roasted carcass in shock, her hand pressed over her open mouth and eyes wide. Her pale skin has taken on a distinctly green cast.

“…Check please,” Rocket manages, weakly. “I think we’re done here.”

 

* * *

 

“These are very good!” Mantis exclaims, chowing down on a wrap half the size of her head. Having ditched the Fatted Calf, Rocket had taken Mantis to his regular joint, a hole-in-the-wall on the meaner side of town where they served precisely three items, all of which were written by hand on a sign in plain Intergalactic Standard.

Taking a bite from his own wrap, Rocket talks with his mouth full, rolling the chewed-up bolus around to display it for all to see. “Yeah, I always go to Freely’s when I’m in town. They make the best protein balls. They’re just beans mashed together with some spices and deep fried. None of that weird exotic meat.” Rocket swallows, promptly taking another bite. “By the way, can we keep that whole accidental almost-cannibalism business just between the two of us? If Quill finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Mantis nods solemnly. “Don’t worry. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

She had kept Ego’s secrets for years, after all.

Rocket feels compelled to clarify: “Just so we’re clear: I didn’t mean to actually order that. I just got a little confused because the print on the menu was so wiggly. That’s not a normal script.” It’s not like he’s illiterate; he’s just not fluent in fancy.

“I understand. I was rather surprised they would cook an intelligent, sentient being anyways. That just seems so wrong.”

Rocket doesn’t have the heart to tell her that his base species, the one that made up the building blocks of what he is today, is not one normally recognized as sentient, much less intelligent, by regular society. On the whole, the experience only served to highlight the gulf that exists between Mantis and himself, bringing their stark differences into uncomfortable focus. On the one side is Mantis, regular humie, and on the other is Rocket, failed science experiment taken apart and stitched back together over and over again until he was discarded, destined for the needle and cremation. The two of them together would be an abomination, something akin to bestiality. Mantis would recoil in horror if she was aware of his depraved feelings lying just below the surface. In a way, he is relieved that ever since he first snapped at her so long ago for petting him, she had never taken the initiative of touching him again and thereby discovering the truth.

“Anyways, all that was a prelude to a visit to the most exciting place in the city. It ain’t as good as the one on Knowhere, but it’s the best thing they got around here,” he says, finally finishing his meal and balling up the paper sleeve it had come in to toss into a nearby open-top trash can. It bounces off the refuse within to settle outside the designated receptacle, ignored by Rocket.

Mantis deposits her own wrapper, bending down to pick up Rocket’s and place it in the trash can. Distantly, Rocket wonders whether he should make more of an effort to be conscientious before disregarding such thoughts entirely. He ain’t changing for nobody.

“Really? Where are we going?” she asks.

“It’s a secret. I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Rocket’s surprise turns out to be a trip to the city junkyard, a pick-and-pull operation run by Nova-sanctioned recyclers and frequented by professional salvagers and amateur hobbyists alike for the best deals in gently- and heavily-used parts. True, one couldn’t access quite the same selection as an off-grid scrap-heap floating along the outskirts of Knowhere – veritable treasure troves full of illegal weapons-grade body mods, untraceable parts for illicit devices, and unlawful ship enhancements – but the city junkyard is the most entertaining _legal_ activity he had considered. His research into the customs and social mores surrounding this sort of thing, though spotty in areas, had been clear on one point: First not-a-dates should follow the straight and narrow to reduce the likelihood of the entire day ending with matching prison attire and lengthy sentences, thereby souring your potential not-a-date partner on the prospect of future excursions.

Hence: This entirely-above-board junkyard.

The perfect not-a-date location.

“What do you think?” he asks her as they stand outside the gates of an open-air field full of scrap and tetanus.

Visible just inside the bars, two squealing orloni scuffle over a chunk of several-days-old bread, until one is scooped up by the talons of a silently-diving Taplebird, leaving the remaining creature with the spoils as it burrows under rusted metal sheeting for cover. It rustles than stills, the only trace of the clash a pair of twin claw markings in the dirt.

Rocket is unperturbed. “Nice, huh? Places like this are where I get all my raw materials to build my shit. They’re very popular. You never know what you’re going to find.”

Mantis is silent, wide eyes taking in the sky-high piles of corroded metal as well as the shrieking wildlife that had made their homes amongst the refuse. It’s dirty, potentially dangerous, and likely crawling with disease–

But also excitingly new.

“I’ve never been to a trash-heap before. Is this where you get your ideas for all your gadgets?” She asks, peering over a stack of collapsed tables holding back a pile of piping of different diameters, lengths, and finishes.

“It ain’t trash; it’s useful stuff that hasn’t been appreciated yet, but yeah. Sometimes I get inspired by a particularly interestin’ find, but most of the time, I already have an idea of what we need and am looking for specific spares. Like the tension tethers we use for void-surfing? Those were just re-purposed towing cables from a junker freight. Much cheaper and stronger than the commercial stuff in stores. They don’t snap no matter what happens.”

Sometimes, discarded bits and broken things can come in handy. Rocket is proof of that piece of wisdom.

“Hey, look, a couple speakers. You think Peter could use these?” she asks, pointing out a mismatched set of ‘vintage’ rusted-out speakers.

They’re likely damaged beyond repair, but Rocket doesn’t want to discourage her. “I think Quill’s got enough of a sound system to deafen all of us, but what we could really use is some noise-cancelling ear-pieces for when he gets stuck on a real annoying song.”

She nods her head. “Copacabana.”

“We don’t speak its name ‘less we summon the monster,” Rocket says semi-seriously.

“The other day, I woke up with it playing in my head. It was terrible.”

“A fate worse than death.”

She giggles, and something in Rocket’s chest loosens. He rummages through the trash piles, bringing choice items to Mantis’s attention and explaining how to repurpose them for a variety of projects.

Inevitably, their conversation turns to Mantis’s boyfriend.

“Strauss also fiddles with invention on occasion, being a machinist at the water processing plant,” she muses. “Do you think this is where he comes for parts for various projects?”

Rocket was hoping to avoid this particular topic. He had taken her out to take her mind off her absent beau. “…Probably if he’s smart and low on cash. Being a single father can be draining, both financial and emotional-like.”

“It can be, but he’s an excellent father. Yox is very lucky. Strauss is very smart and oh-so-kind and funny and–”

“Oh hey!” Rocket interrupts, holding up a thin tapered cylinder jointed in the middle and at one end. It’s long and stiff, similar to the legs of an arthropod. “Prosthetic leg. Very nice…”

He hands it to Mantis, who fiddles with the joints, extending and contracting them before smoothing one hand along the dark surface of what appeared to be a calf. Under the dust, it’s glossy and reflects her own face back at her.

“It’s impressive how they can make you a new limb when you’ve lost the original,” Mantis looks thoughtful. “I used to have a friend once who could regenerate her own limbs. We got into a jam this one time where she accidentally lost her tail, and I cried so hard thinking I had hurt her, but she told me not to worry about it. It would grow back, she said. It seemed like a useful ability, and I had hoped she would last longer because of it, but…” she trails off. “It’s nice that others can regain use of their lost or damaged body parts.”

Rocket doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he circles back to more comfortable conversational territory. “This one is an old model. The shell ain’t too pretty, but it has very fine circuitry for sensory feedback and processing. The bits can be repurposed for smaller devices requiring a lot of detailed input from a relatively small receptor area.”

“It _is_ kind of cute,” she declares. The leg terminates in a split toe foot pad. She wriggles one digit, testing out the points of articulation and smiles when it reflexively curls over her fingers.

“It’s also in the wrong spot. Someone got lazy with sorting or maybe a newbie thought it was a support strut for a collapsible table.” Rocket shrugs, crossing his arms. “Amateur.”

“There’s an order to this place?” Mantis looks up and around, noting the haphazard piles of seemingly-unrelated items strewn about, organized with no obvious rhyme or reason, not unlike Rocket’s hovel on the Benatar.

“Well yeah. Ain’t it obvious?” Rocket prods the nearest pile, removing a bit of metal siding to reveal a wireless toaster next to a water tank. “This sector is small appliances for the home; ‘small’ being anything smaller than a scouting pod. You want prosthetics? They usually keep that shit in the boneyard.”

“The boneyard?”

 

* * *

 

The boneyard is Rocket’s favorite sector. Kept within a cavernous indoor warehouse sealed to prevent rainwater seepage, it’s a mountain range of spare parts, shed primarily from patients who outgrew, upgraded, or otherwise no longer had any use for them. Kept inside to avoid quick degradation from fluctuating weather conditions, the exposed surface is primarily comprised of newer upgrades. If Rocket were to dig down, each deeper layer would peel away like snapshots in time revealing advances in sensory technology and the evolution of taste and style. Newer designs tended to be rounded into the shape of natural body parts with brushed nickel under-surfaces lying beneath a layer of naturally textured synth-skin.

Rocket prefers old-fashioned styles, back when the prosthetics looked like prosthetics – chrome and bulbous with the occasional deep-pressed engraving in imitation of tattoos. Some had generic but elegant geometric designs while others were more personal, with discounts available for particularly heinous transgressions of taste. Even if they weren’t cheaper, Rocket still favors the truly unfortunate ones on an aesthetic level: tasteless corporate brands, ex-partner’s names, and the like – permanent engravings that absolutely screamed poor decision-making, impulsiveness, and possibly impaired reasoning. He almost had a full set of prosthetics, including a skull plate, emblazoned with the name Dyna. He likes to think they all refer to the same techno-chaser who left a trail of broken hearts and discarded body parts in her wake. Now, that was an impressive feat of persuasion. He couldn’t help but respect this unknown woman’s track record.

Rocket is almost giddy when he enters the warehouse, his eye already skimming across the mountainous landscape of body parts, that he barely notices when Mantis falls behind.

“Hello gorgeous,” he whistles, once at the base. He shifts his stance to the other leg, crossing his arms. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” he asks, looking over his shoulder to find Mantis absent from his side. He spins around fully, visually re-tracking his steps to find her still standing just outside the entrance, frozen in place, an unreadable expression in her large eyes.

He hops down and ambles back. “You alright there? You look like you’ve seen a gh–” he turns back to look at the boneyard, trying to figure out what has her so spooked, when he sees it.

The whole interior resembles a cavern full of thousands of bodies spilled over each other, disassembled as time has withered away the flesh and connective tissue. It’s not wholly unlike what Gamora had described to him after Ego’s implosion, the secret lurking within the planet’s core and the final resting place of Mantis’s deepest regrets.

“So… why don’t we get out of here, yeah?” he suggests, tapping the cloth of her wrist-guards to peel her attention away from the piles of body parts.

“I would like that,” Mantis confirms, following him away from the boneyard and outside the gates.

 

* * *

 

The walk back to the Benatar is awkward with Rocket uncharacteristically silent and Mantis the same. The day was awful, an unmitigated disaster actually. Rocket is at a loss for words, thinking and rethinking how to salvage the situation.

Surprisingly, Mantis is the first to speak. “Thank you for taking me out today. I know you were trying to cheer me up because Strauss was busy, and I appreciate the effort.”

“Listen… about the boneyard. And lunch… that wasn’t supposed to go down like that,” he says, apologetically. He sighs. “I know you would have much rather spent the day with your man than me.”

“But I did enjoy my day with you. I liked Freely’s and the junkyard was very interesting. I had a good time with you, and I’m happy you thought of me when you saw how down I was and wanted me to tag along.”

Rocket is happy they like the same activities, and even more encouraging, Mantis feels comfortable around him. His stride becomes more confident.

“You’re such a great friend, Rocket.”

He slows, his shoulders hunched.

_Of course._

Rocket should have known. She will never feel for him what he feels for her.

Why should she?

But still, it was nice being her friend, even if nothing could ever develop between them. Really, it was the best he could hope for.

 

* * *

 

_I’m sorry to have missed you this time around. I explored your home town with my friend, Rocket. He took me to a local place where they have these protein ball things, and then we went to the junkyard where he showed me how to repurpose old items. Have you been there? It was…_

Reading through the message, Rocket is relieved to see his early missteps have been omitted from her favorable account of their day.

_…and then there was this place piled high with prosthetics, and it looked just like dismembered corpses, bodies everywhere. It was like being back with that man all over again. Rocket was nice about it, and we left pretty quickly after, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He must have thought I was a freak, or worse. What if he figured out what I had done? I could find out by touching him, to see if he felt disgust or concern, but he doesn’t like being touched by anyone. I try to respect his privacy, but sometimes it’s hard. I just can’t tell with him. But it’s so easy to talk to you. You know all my secrets and yet you stay. I am so grateful to have you in my life. It’s just… maybe next time, can we actually meet, if only for a little while? I would very much like that._

Rocket knows he can’t respond right now, not when SuddenlyStudly is supposedly at work, toiling away at fixing entire filtration systems amid a raw sewage disaster, but the words bother him. His fingers itch to reply.

Instead, he does as he always does in such situations.

He works. He builds and fixes, concentrating on easier problems with clear solutions, to take his mind off the messy, increasingly-complicated interpersonal dynamics between Mantis, his alter ego, and himself. Surveying the pile of completed gadgets at the end of a few hours’ work, he hatches an idea, clearing the entire lot into a box along with a prized knick-knack or two buried underneath a deluge of spare parts to carry to a local bookie who owes him a favor.

He’ll make this right.

Upon his return to the Benatar, he sets his sights on the multitude of treasured trash heaps, ranging in size from small to medium, strewn around his work station, particularly his crowning possession: the large pile of prosthetics near his nest. He had never noticed before, but Mantis avoided looking at that corner, keeping her back firmly facing it even when Rocket sat on the other side of the bench. The reasons are obvious now.

Armed with several boxes, hooks, and peg board, he digs through the first pile, then the next and the next, organizing the lot into various receptacles and hanging his tools on hooks attached to the peg board behind his nest.

When he is done, he stands back, looking over his now-clean workstation with a critical eye to ensure he didn’t miss anything.

Quill steps in beside him, viewing the change with approval. “You actually cleaned up. What’s the occasion?”

Rocket shrugs. “No reason. Just thought I’d try something new. You got’a problem with it?”

“Nope. It’s just a nice change, and I was wondering how I could get you to do it more often.”

“Yeah, well… don’t get used to it. I haven’t made up my mind whether this set-up is permanent or not, and this don’t mean that the cleared spot ain’t mine. I still need it to spread out and work,” he challenges the man, unwilling to cede a single square inch of space. “So, don’t get any ideas.”

"I wouldn't dream of it."


	4. Was Any of it Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught by Peter, Rocket comes clean.

The first gift for Mantis arrives not too long after they have docked in Lurei City on the planet Hertolt. Having been on babysitting duty, Drax was on ship to receive the package, handing it to Mantis upon her and Rocket’s return from their latest excursion. The address label is written in a messy, jittery scrawl with inconsistent variations in the size and style of the standard letter script.

“Who’s it from?” Drax inquires, as Mantis cuts into the box and pulls out a small round device, quickly snatching up and reading the accompanying note.

“It’s from Strauss,” she says, happy surprise in her tone. “He wants to apologize for not being able to meet me when we were on Xandar last week and says he thinks I could use this micro space-heater for nights because I mentioned how cold it could get on the Benatar.”

“That’s very thoughtful, but gifts aren’t a substitute for quality time,” Drax advises her. He had not been impressed with the man’s absence during their last sojourn to his home planet. Mantis had literally traveled galaxies to meet him; the least he could have done was walk to a nearby café. Briefly, he considers talking to her about equivalent effort in relationships. Perhaps she is trying too hard while Strauss coasted on his superior looks.

“Lay off’a them, Drax,” Rocket says, coming to the defense of his alter ego. “At least he’s trying.”

“Yeah, that sewage overflow was out of his control. It’s not like he was trying to avoid me,” Mantis joins in.

Rocket grits his teeth in a guilty grimace then quickly assumes an innocent façade. It’s entirely unnecessary, considering the social incompetence of his present company.

“And we do spend a lot of time together,” she insists. “I talk to him every day.”

Drax seems to accept her answer, but Peter is not quite as easily convinced. When he and Gamora return from their supply run turned date night, he carefully examines the box, particularly the label, then removes a small corner of the wrapping when Mantis is preoccupied in showing off her present to Gamora.

Over the coming weeks, Mantis receives a package at every destination, usually within the first two days of docking at a new port. Invariably, she will produce the new device with much fanfare, demonstrating its use as explained by Strauss in the accompanying letter. Soon, she had an entire line-up of gadgets along her formerly-bare shelf of personal effects. Being familiar with mechanical devices, Rocket would show her how to maintain and oil her new collection, to ensure they stayed in good working order.

“That’s a very nice automaton,” Gamora says, admiring the small mechanical doll as it dictated every word they said on a miniature keyboard connected to holopad. “The Nova delivery service must have vastly improved since I last had to send physical mail, considering your packages always arrive so quickly after we make port.”

“Strauss is so sly. The first time, he asked me where we were off to next without telling me his intentions so he could have it secretly delivered before we left to our next destination,” Mantis chatters along happily. “And now, he makes a habit of sending me something by the time we make port in a new place. He’s so sweet.”

“Right… Very sweet,” Gamora repeats.

 

* * *

 

“Okay Peter, I think you might be onto something with Strauss,” Gamora tells him later when they are alone.

Peter looks up from the nav. “See, I told you the guy was a creep!”

“I think he might be stalking her, and she doesn’t even know it,” Gamora whispers, indicating he should also keep his voice down as well so the others won’t hear. “Did you get anything on the last package?”

“The location stamp indicates the same origin as the others and trace analysis on the paper and inside of the box show that it has a composition consistent with Xandarian atmosphere and biome, just like the last five packages,” Peter says, running fingers through his hair in frustration. “I just don’t get it. The guy is not going off-planet so he’s not following her around, and as far as I can tell, he’s not requesting packages of dirty underwear, balls of disguarded hair, toenail clippings, or anything weird that could be used to make an obsessive mini-Mantis shrine,” he elaborates as Gamora becomes increasingly skeptical of the depth of his paranoia with every additional disturbing conjecture. “He’s just following her across the galaxy with all these gifts. What’s his angle?”

Gamora sounds unsure. “If he’s not actually making an effort to follow her… Do you think we’re overreacting? Maybe he’s just… I don’t know… nice?”

Peter can’t lose her in Operation Security Blanket, not now that he ever-so-briefly convinced her to join his cause. “C’mon Gamora… You’ve been around these parts long enough to know that nothing ever comes free. Have you ever met anyone who gives gifts without an ulterior motive?”

He has a point, but she has a feeling their experiences may not be universal.

“Our fathers aside… maybe we’re exercising an overabundance of caution in this particular case,” Gamora reasons, softly rubbing his arm in comforting circles. “We’ll be vigilant for the time being, but if we try to directly discourage their relationship with no evidence, it will only isolate Mantis and put her on the defensive. Besides, I wouldn’t want our suspicions to ruin what could be a good thing for her. She has never been excited about anyone else before.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he mutters.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, looking up at his disgruntled face with such warmth. “Don’t worry, Peter. If he turns out to be evil… well, it’s not the first time we’ve had to bury a body.”

 

* * *

 

Gamora kicks off the next phase of Operation Security Blanket a long three days later, when Mantis seems particularly happy and unsuspecting.

“You are in a good mood today,” she comments at breakfast.

“Oh, I stayed up half the night talking to Strauss. He’s such a gentleman… and very funny and such a good listener,” their target gushes.

Unnoticed at the coffee machine, Rocket’s ears perk up.

“So, things are going well?” Gamora gently prods.

Before Mantis can answer, Quill interrupts: “You mean that SuddenlyStudly guy? You talked to him, like in person, or through video, or…?”

“No, just messaging. He said his holo-projector is broken, so he can’t video-chat right now,” Mantis explains brightly.

“And before that, he couldn’t video-chat because he didn’t want the bright light to interrupt his son’s sleep patterns?” Quill looks at his fingers as he taps a rhythm against the arm of his chair.

“That is correct. Yox is a growing boy and needs his sleep to become big and strong.”

“And he couldn’t meet us last time we were in Xandar because he had to work for three weeks straight due to an overflow issue at the water processing plant,” he presses further.

Mantis’s upbeat demeanor falters as she slumps in her seat.

“Peter…” Gamora nudges him. She had warned him from this line of attack not too long ago. This is not the time for the man to go rogue.

Quill doesn’t take the hint. “What? I’m just saying we don’t know anything about this guy. Mantis has never actually met him, and he only has the one photo,” he tells her before turning to Mantis, “There’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete dick, but how do you know he is who he says he is?”

“Because I know him. We talk all the time,” she answers defensively.

Quill sighs. “Look, I know you aren’t used to this, but there are a lot of bad people out there who have no qualms taking advantage of women searching for a connection with someone. He may be working you to extract something else later.”

That sets her off. “He’s not. He hasn’t asked me for anything. He’s nice, and he just likes to talk to me. I’m not a child, Peter; I can make my own decisions.” She’s not even looking at him anymore, angrily staring at her hands, closed off to any further criticism.

Quill knows he overstepped. He backs off but not before trying one last time: “Mantis, I’m not saying you need to stop talking to him. I’m just saying you should be more careful and ask for more confirmation about who he is.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” she replies.

But she’s dejected at his opinion, later confiding in Gamora: “How can Peter be so mean? I know I’m not pretty like you, Gamora, but he knows nothing about Strauss except for the one picture, yet he questions how someone like him can like someone like me.”

_Of course._

Gamora is annoyed that Peter’s impatience had re-awakened Mantis’s insecurities. “You are pretty, Mantis,” she says firmly, “and Peter didn’t mean it that way. He’s just concerned about you and doesn’t want to see you get hurt–”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” she grumbles.

“Well, yes, he can be an idiot and quite blunt at the worst possible time,” Gamora concedes. “But he has a good heart. The truth is we don’t know Strauss like you do, but we are concerned that in all the time you’ve been talking to him, you have never seen him in person. Perhaps it wouldn’t be amiss to request a video-chat. If he’s having so much trouble with his holo-projector, perhaps we can send him one. He has a stationary address, correct?”

Mantis is thoughtful. “Yeah…”

“And he’s given you so many nice gifts; maybe it’s time we sent him something back.”

She means the holo-projector, but that gives Mantis an idea.

 

* * *

 

Though Mantis’s happiness at each new acquisition gratified Rocket, he grew apprehensive at her increasingly more-frequent requests to video chat. He’d already run through the usual excuses, and while Strauss’s tacit insistence he remain unseen would have triggered misgivings in a more worldly woman, Mantis seems to accept it at face value. He feels guilty about duping one so naïve, so innocent, but he didn’t know how to stop and more damningly, didn’t want to.

_Thank you very much for the automaton. I have amassed quite the collection of mechana. Want to see?_ –BugEyes

Rocket clicks on the attachment, expecting a picture of all the gifts he had his bookie send her. Sure enough, they were there…

…in the background of a scantily-clad Mantis sprawled out suggestively on the bed right in front of her shelf.

Rocket quickly closes out the photo, his face burning up to the tips of his ears in embarrassment as Mantis’s next message pings through.

_So, did you like my photo?_ –BugEyes

Rocket gulps. He can’t very well _not_ reply. What if she thinks he’s disgusted with her? This delicate matter required diplomacy, something which didn’t come naturally to him. He starts to type: _Nice, but don’t do that no more. There are a lot of freaks out there that would beat off to this shit. Not me, though._

He deletes his message, retyping, _I like your photo_ before deleting that as well. He doesn’t want to encourage her to send more. He already feels bad enough deceiving her as it is, without amassing a risqué photo album of Mantis in various states of undress.

He finally settles on: _You’re very beautiful, but don’t feel obligated to send me any more photos. Hacking is a real problem, and I wouldn’t want you to be a victim of that sort of thing. Thanks for the photo, though. –SuddenlyStudly_

They fall back into their regular conversation, much to Rocket’s relief.

 

* * *

 

Strauss’s home address turns out to be a drop-box at a local bar which also served as a makeshift post office. Peter had checked. _We don’t live in the best neighborhood,_ Strauss had explained to Mantis. _Packages go missing all the time._

It is a plausible (if a bit too convenient) explanation that a man of little means would live on the rough side of town where theft was rampant and a drop box necessary. It still did nothing to alleviate Peter’s suspicions.

But Mantis’s next package does, promptly replacing his fears with bristling irritation.

“This is a very nice one with many points of articulation for fine motor control,” Mantis says, fawning over the prosthetic arm with an engraving of a corporate logo carved onto the inner forearm. Rocket had slowly taught her an appreciation for them, even if she couldn’t stomach the sight of them in aggregate, piled haphazardly one on top of the other.

“It’s been well cared for.” She touches the tips of her fingers to those of the prosthetic and imagines what it would be like to touch someone else and feel only their skin.

Peter can only stare at the arm, particularly that engraving.

As Captain of the Benatar, he had taken note of his team member’s strengths and weakness, their particular foibles, and he knew of only one person whose aesthetic preferences leaned towards such tastelessness.

Rocket is minding his own business, tinkering with his latest project, when Peter walks up behind him and promptly cuffs him on the back of the head.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Rocket hisses, rubbing the sore spot. Quill hadn’t held back. “Stars, you could’a caused real damage, you psycho.”

“Prosthetic arm with the tacky logo for an A/C company etched on it. It’s you. It’s been you all this time,” he fumes. The last gift is so obvious, it’s almost like the guy wants to get caught.

Taken aback at the accusation, Rocket huffs, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _You’re_ SuddenlyStudly, which… dude. Terrible name.”

“Hey!” He hadn’t half-assed it this time. Rocket put actual effort into that name. “I mean… I’m sure whoever this SuddenlyStudly guy is took a long time to come up with a name that captured a certain air of mystery and musculature, and I resent the implication I would go that far to annoy Drax,” he tries to cover.

“So, you’re telling me this is all about pissing off Drax? This isn’t even about Mantis at all?” Quill deduces, quiet rage bubbling over.

_Whoops._

While it may have started out that way, they were far past that by this point.

When in doubt: Deny, deny, deny.

“I just said it wasn’t about that because I didn’t do shit.”

“Rocket…” Quill warns.

“What?” Rocket deflects. “Anybody could’ve gotten her that totally awesome prosthetic arm.”

Were he and Quill looking at the same arm? It had an engraving of a slightly melted ice-cube with the slogan _Stay Frosty_ underneath in icicle script. No one with half a brain would have been able to resist its peculiar allure…

Okay, maybe that explained why Quill didn’t appreciate the sublime humor in such a find.

The man in question doesn’t even dignify that assertion with a verbal response, choosing simply to stare at Rocket meaningfully until he inevitably caves. He is caught. They both know it.

“Okay _fine_. Yeah. It was me,” he admits, rolling his eyes and shrugging in well-practiced faux indifference to the magnitude of this revelation. It is a relief, in a way, to have someone else know, even if it had to be Quill who figured it out. “You got me. What’s the big deal? So, Drax stops picking on her for five minutes, and Mantis comes away with a couple gadgets and thinks she’s not a hideous monster. Is that really so bad?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it really is.” Quill sighs, taking a moment to organize his thoughts into a coherent argument his compatriot can understand. “Rocket, don’t you get it? Mantis thinks someone out there likes her, someone real. She hasn’t figured it out yet, but if she does and finds out that this – whatever this is – was all a joke to you, then she’s going to feel even worse. She’ll be heartbroken and even more discouraged than before.”

“It ain’t a joke,” he mumbles.

“What do you mean? Of course it’s a…” Quill stops to really observe Rocket’s fidgety body language and the way he can’t quite meet Peter’s eyes. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re not just being a giant dick right now?”

Rocket’s head snaps up to look at him, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Is it really so hard to believe that I might find her...” he struggles to find the word, “actually appealing? Or am I just a stupid animal incapable of feeling anything like that for one of you _higher_ life forms.”

Quill is taken aback. “Rocket, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, well… not that it’s any of your business, but you don’t know shit. I may be a monster, but I have feelings, too, even ones that make you humies uncomfortable,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching inward. “I can’t figure why you even care anyways. You already got Gamora, and it’s not like you’re Mantis’s father–”

Quill cuts him off. “Yeah but my father _did_ that to her. Ego… Ego didn’t just have murder victims. He has living ones as well, and Mantis… Well, Mantis had years – her whole childhood – stolen. She never got to kiss boys at the right age or experiment when everyone else was figuring out the same stuff. Now, she’s an adult, but she hasn’t learned how to avoid the assholes, or how to set and enforce firm boundaries, or how to recognize and walk away from a bad situation, and there’s just too many people who will take advantage of that, and… I don’t know…” he says, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. “Look, I’m not going to stop you, but if you really like Mantis – and I mean really really like her – then you should just tell her you’re Strauss and go from there.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Quill challenges him, reasoning: “Eventually she’s going to want to meet Strauss. She’s sending him a holo-projector right now for that very purpose. Strauss can’t have his stuff on the fritz or be ‘busy’ for the rest of his life. What are you going to do then? Stand her up?”

“No! But maybe if I had more time...” Maybe if Rocket had more time, he can enjoy this feeling just a little longer, before Mantis realizes her virtual boyfriend, the person she had confided in all this time, isn’t even a person at all, and it all comes crashing down.

Quill is firm. “The longer you don’t tell her, the more it’s going to sound like a lie when you eventually do.”

Rocket hates to admit it, but the man has a good point, terrifyingly enough. Now, if only he could find a time to broach the subject and break the news to Mantis gently. If nothing else, he wants to preserve whatever he can of their friendship before it’s too late.

That opportunity comes sooner than expected when Rocket drops a yakafruit from the top of an overflowing box, a humble gift from the beneficiaries of their most recent act of underpaid benevolence. He reaches down to pick it up at the same time as Mantis, causing her to brush up against his arm.

Ungloved.

She withdraws completely, her eyes growing wide as saucers and a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks. He springs backwards, dropping the entire box and spilling yakafruit everywhere.

“I’m sorry!” she squeaks out.

Rocket wants to bolt, unable to bear the downright _pity_ in her gaze. He figured she’d never be able to love him, but to have confirmation of that fact is too much.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” she says much-too-quickly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rocket replies, but he’s looking around her for the exit. If he darts around her right now, he can make it to an escape pod while she’s still stunned and encumbered with overwhelming disgust that an animal such as he can feel such a way about her. He won’t even need to pause for his go-bag. He started with nothing, and he could do it all over again if need be.

She’s clearly still trying to process the new revelation. “It’s just that… you’re a very good friend. I never thought you could… about me, I mean.”

“Yeah, well…” He knew this would happen – that deep down, she had never thought of him as a person capable of such feelings – but it’s so much more painful to hear it from her.

“And I’m with Strauss now, so… I’m sorry, Rocket, really I am.” She’s trying to let him down easy, to spare his feelings.

Rocket has never responded well to charity. “This ain’t even about Strauss. Even if he wasn’t around, you’d never be able to love a little monster like me.”

It’s not fair. He knows it.

He doesn’t care.

“That’s not true, Rocket. Maybe if I had never met him… but we shouldn’t talk about hypothetical situations,” she says. No reason to give her friend false hope.

Rocket massages his temple in frustration at her little white lies. After all, his own lies designed to soften her self-criticism are what got them into this situation. It’s now or never.

“Mantis, I’m SuddenlyStudly,” Rocket confesses, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. At her perplexed expression, he clarifies, “I’m Strauss.”

“No, you’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am.”

“This isn’t funny, Rocket,” she declares firmly, turning to leave.

“ _What’s important ain’t what you were but who you are now,_ ” he says desperately, repeating one of his earlier messages to her. She stops. “ _You’re a good person,_ Mantis, and… and I ain’t. I wish I was, but I ain’t. ”

Spinning around, Mantis’s expression morphs from one of disbelief to crushing despair. “You…” she starts to speak but can’t continue, her face and throat frozen in heartbreaking horror.

Rocket closes his eyes, unable to bear watching her palpable disappointment unfold. “I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why did you do it? ” she finally asks, desperate for answers. How could anyone, much less someone she considered a friend, be so cruel?

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I guess I got sick of Drax always putting you down, and I thought… I thought well, he was being such an asshole, what if Drax’s ideal man liked you? Maybe that would shut him up for good, you know… and then it just kind of got out of hand.”

It’s the worst thing he’s done in recent memory.

“Quill said I wasn’t being fair to you, and I should come clean, and… and this was not a great idea,” he finishes lamely.

“Peter, too? Did… Did everyone know? Was everyone in on it, laughing at the stupid, ugly girl no one could ever really love?” Mantis’s voice breaks. “I’m such an idiot.”

He rushes to correct her. “No… it was just me. Quill only found out recently, and he was pretty upset about the whole thing. Look, it wasn’t… it wasn’t all fake. The picture was, but all that stuff I wrote, everything I said… that was me.”

“I need… I need to go,” Mantis says, turning away to head towards her room.

“Mantis…” Rocket tries, reaching out to grab her forearm before thinking better of it and retracting his paw.

“No… Just… I can’t do this right now. With you.”

Rocket watches her walk away and hears her shut the door to her room. His gut sinks to his knees as the dawning realization that Quill was right sets in. He can’t help but feel awash in fresh waves of guilt.

 

* * *

 

Mantis doesn’t leave her room that night nor the next day. Rocket checked his Love Connection app only to find that she had deleted her account. The other Guardians quickly noticed her absence but, with the exception of Peter, didn’t know the cause. Peter and Gamora separately attempted to either coax her out or allow them in to talk, while Drax left rations outside her door that disappeared periodically. _Sometimes people have to be alone. She’ll come out when she’s ready,_ he had assured them.

Rocket isn’t so certain. He had humiliated her, broken her heart, and she likely never wanted to see his face again.

When she fails to emerge on the third day, the others begin to worry.

“Does anyone know what happened to Mantis?” Gamora asks the Guardians assembled on the bridge.

“I am Groot.” _Lady problems?_

Gamora rolls her eyes. “It’s not lady problems. That’s not a thing.”

“Perhaps she caught a stomach bug and is quarantining herself to protect the rest of us,” Drax suggests.

“That doesn’t even make sense. She would have said something,” Quill says, but he’s staring at Rocket. “Whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll figure it out.”

Quill corners him later. “You talked to her, didn’t you?”

Rocket bristles at the implication, at the blame in his tone. “Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way. Fat lot of good it did.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault _you_ lied to her and strung her along for months,” the man bites back, fingers tapping the bicep of his crossed arm. “I warned you it would get worse the longer you kept it up.”

“Stars, Quill. Is this really the time for I-told-you-so? Well, okay, fine. You were right, oh genius one, and now you can hold that over my head for the rest of our lives–”

“This isn’t about being right, though I did tell you it would turn out this way,” he says, failing to contain his urge to rub it in.

“Yeah well, any bright ideas on how to rectify this shit situation?” Despite Rocket’s acerbic tone, he’s truly open to any suggestions at this point.

“It would be a lot easier if she’d talk to one of us about it. Have you tried – I don’t know; this might be a _crazy_ suggestion, so stay with me on this – actually talking to her?” he says with unnecessary sarcasm. “Because sulking is not doing either of you any favors.”

“Yeah, well, Mantis don’t want to talk about it. Not with you. Not with me. Not with no one.”

She had always been that way, ever since Ego forced her to sublimate her own emotions for the sake of his cause: the Expansion. Upon further reflection, Mantis probably didn’t want him to know about that. She probably didn’t want anyone she lived in such close quarters to know, Rocket thinks with no small measure of guilt. Give a person a mask, and they’ll show you who they are. Give them an anonymous sounding board, and they’ll likely do the same, with no fear that their secrets will infect their real life or sully that public care-free persona she so carefully refined. It wasn’t so much a false front as an aspect of her true personality she let loose around the Guardians, while insulating the rest with long-cultivated safeguards, ones she let go of when speaking to his SuddenlyStudly persona.

“Well, maybe give her some space then. She has to come out eventually.”

 

* * *

 

Quill’s statement turns out to be prescient, but when Mantis emerges two days later, she is quiet, more reserved than usual, and avoids even so much as standing too close to Rocket. For his part, Rocket retreats to his workstation to give her much-needed space and allow her free reign of the rest of the Benatar.

It’s a status quo that lasts for weeks, with the two of them avoiding each other and Rocket immersing himself in his work, trying to distract himself with the constant flow of work, fixing problems both real and pre-emptive.

“I am Groot.” _Thanks, but you didn’t need to make me my very own automatic leaf trimmer. I can groom myself._

“But this device will save you two minutes a day of time. Over the course of a standard year, that’s like half a day. Don’t be ungrateful, kid.”

“I am Groot?” _Thank you? I think…_

“That’s more like it.”

“I am Groot.” _Papa Rocket… Can you just apologize and make up with Mantis already?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“I am Groot.” _It’s kind of obvious, and you two are totally harshing the general vibe around here._

Rocket turns back to his next task. “Get out, Groot,” he says over his shoulder, already having pried open yet another unnecessary device.

“I…” _But…_

“I said out,” he repeats sternly, pointing his screwdriver towards the door.

Groot leaves without further comment, and Rocket’s screwdriver stills as he places it next to his new project and cradles his face in his paws.

 

* * *

 

When Mantis opens her door the following morning, she almost trips over a wrapped package just outside the threshold. Written across the top in large letters is one phrase:

_I’m Sorry._

 

* * *

 

Rocket is working on automating an air freshener to dispense cologne when it detects traces of vile odors – so basically whenever Quill is within eight feet of its receptors – when his short-range transmitter crackles to life.

“…Hello…” Mantis’s voice breaks through. “Is this thing working?”

Rocket can’t believe it. Cautiously, he picks up the handheld device, pressing the transmission button. “Hello?”

There’s a pause, then: “Permission to approach?”

Rocket thinks for a long moment, trying and failing to ascertain the purpose of her request. Still, he doesn’t feel in the position to deny her anything, especially if it’s something he desperately wants and dreads in turn. His stomach twisted in knots, he clicks the transmitter on.

“Permission granted.”

Immediately, there’s a knock at the door then a whoosh as it sweeps open to reveal an uncertain Mantis staring down at the box in her hands and transmitter clipped to her waist. Momentarily hesitating, she steps inside, and the door closes behind her, trapping them together.

 

* * *

 

They sit silently next to each other on his work bench, the unopened gift placed between them.

Mantis is the first to speak. “You left this for me?”

Rocket nods, staring at the package, unable to meet her eyes, much less speak.

“It’s been a tough few weeks. For everyone,” she observes.

“You want me to leave?” It’s the only possible reason she would willingly stand near him like this after what he had done.

“No, of course not,” she quickly assures him.

“So, you want to hit me ‘til we’re even,” he muses. “All right. I’m game. Maximum damage would be a swift kick to the family jewels, if you know what I’m saying.”

“That’s not…” she says, palming her forehead. “Stars.”

“Okay, I get it. You don’t even want to touch my junk, however briefly. I wouldn’t either if I was you, so other prime spots are the eyes and snout. If you’re lucky and hit ‘em just right, I might even cry on reflex.”

Mantis can’t help it; she laughs involuntarily at the sheer ridiculousness of Rocket trying to bargain his way into her good graces. Sneaking a peak at her face – Stars, she is so beautiful – the corners of Rocket’s mouth tip up into a sad smile as her laughter dies down to silence.

“This is so stupid,” she declares.

He flinches. “Yeah… I’m sorry.” Of course, they couldn’t go back to the way they were. Not now. Not ever. He braces for her to say as much.

“I miss Strauss,” she says instead, turning to face him directly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, and I really am sorry. There were times I wanted to stop, to tell you who I really was, but…” Rocket shrugs, deflated and defeated. “It’s selfish, but I guess I liked how you talked to me when I was Strauss and not the monster I actually am. It was kind of nice while it lasted, you know.”

Her answer is resolute, unwavering. “You aren’t a monster, Rocket. I should know. I’ve lived my whole life under one.”

Rocket doesn’t know how to feel about that. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes and just because he wasn’t quite as bad as the infanticidal maniac who raised her, didn’t mean he wasn’t one. Should he correct her assertion?

“Aren’t you going to open your present?” he asks instead.

Picking up the package, Mantis slowly unwraps it, carefully cutting it open with a box-cutter Rocket passes her.

“It ain’t nothing fancy, but I thought… well, the ones you usually use are so bulky that it’s hard to do anything that requires detail work,” he explains as she pulls out a pair of leather work gloves in her size.

She puts them on, stretching and contracting her fingers to test out the range of motion and feel of them. They’re quite the upgrade from the second-hand cast-offs Rocket had let her use.

“They’re perfect,” she comments, examining the well-oiled shiny exterior. “Thank you, Rocket.”

Rocket squirms under her gratitude, unused to the feelings her smile is giving him. She is looking at him, aware of his regard for her, yet she doesn’t shrink in disgust. Still–

“I am real sorry it’s just me, you know, and not Mr. Studly Beefcake, Esq.”

“No, that part’s okay,” Mantis replies, lacing her gloved fingers together on her lap. “Actually, the photo you used wasn’t really my type, but you were one of the few respondents not to send me a picture of their genitals so I thought I would take a chance and was pleasantly surprised by our correspondence.”

“You liked my messages?” Rocket asks, his voice betraying wonder. “I mean… of course you did. I am quite good at vocabulizing.”

Mantis giggles again, and shit, does that give Rocket the warm fuzzies deep in his belly.

“So, uhhh… I know this ain’t ideal, but you maybe want’a go out planetside sometime… on a real date?” he clarifies, “…With me?”

“Yes.”

She leans in, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. His back straightens, his fur standing up on end, making him appear twice his size. She stifles another laugh behind a gloved hand as she slips the other into his paw, threading her fingers between his.

She turns to the cologne dispenser. “What are you working on here?”

“Bad smell. Be gone,” he babbles, his overtaxed brain still recovering from the events of the last two minutes.

She lets go of his paw to rifle through his tool box.

“Need help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little headcannon, but when I think of Rocket, I always think of him a bit like Frankenstein’s monster. He’s been pulled apart and stitched back together and many think he’s the monster, but in reality, his creators are the monsters. And here he is with his obsession with prosthetic body parts… it just seems kind of fitting. 
> 
> Anyways, we’ve come to the end. As always, if you enjoyed it, drop me a comment letting me know. I had fun in rarepair land, and I hope you did too.


End file.
